


Classic Sci-Fi

by spelling_error



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint is an asshole in this and I'm sorry about that, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Memory Loss, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Clint Barton Friendly, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Temporarily Unrequited Love, Temporary Amnesia, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spelling_error/pseuds/spelling_error
Summary: Bucky wakes up to Steve telling him he's lost his memory, but not to panic, it'll only last a few days. Easier said than done when the last thing Bucky remembers is fighting Hydra with the Howlies in WWII.He tries to make the most of it however, and there's this guy... Tony Stark. It's pretty clear the guy hates Bucky's guts, which is unfortunate because god damn is he a sight.He tries to figure out what he did to wrong Stark, but everyone just tells him he doesn't want to know.They were right.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 106
Kudos: 878





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Bucky uses the word 'queer' as an identity, and Tony uses the word 'twink'.
> 
> Inspired by that one gif where Sebastian Stan is asked who is the hottest avenger and he replies immediately with Iron Man only to trail off in obvious panic halfway through because he just realized he has a crush on Iron Man/RDJ and you can just see it on his face the panic that goes through his head. Makes me laugh every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The youtube link to the mentioned interview where Sebastian accidentally admits to his crush on Iron Man is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIVM69W5_ak) at about 3:30

Bucky comes to awareness with Steve’s hovering face looming over him. He would roll his eyes at his friends mother henning, but his head is pounding, so he settles for pushing him away, “Get off, you big lug,” he gripes, “’m fine,” he says and tries to sit up.

He’s stopped by a searing pain in his shoulder.

“Shit,” he curses. It must be dislocated, he thinks, gripping to feel for blood or inflammation.

“You alright? Is it your arm?” Steve asks, standing and offering a hand.

Bucky doesn’t hear him though. He’s too busy prodding at his shoulder and wondering why it’s made of _metal_.

He looks down his arm, finds five robotic metal fingers wiggling back at him.

“Wha--?” He rasps, throat suddenly tight with panic.

“Buck?”

“Steve? Steve… what… what’s wrong with my arm?” he hears himself ask, and then the world fades into darkness.

**

He comes round again, and Steve is hovering still, but he’s not in uniform anymore. He’s wearing civilian clothes, and the room they’re in isn’t an army tent, isn’t a medic truck, it’s a room with no draft and everything is _white_. White as clouds on a bright summer day, white. White as a sheet, one that his ma washed, ‘cause all theirs are grey since neither of them know what they’re doing when it comes to laundry.

It’s just so sterile, so clean, so unnatural.

“Hey, don’t pass out on me this time,” Steve says with a grin.

“I’ll do my best,” he croaks.

Steve gives an encouraging smile that doesn’t bode well for Bucky at all.

“You got doused with something on our last mission and you lost your memory,” he says, still trying to give Bucky that stupid smile.

Bucky groans loudly and shuts his eyes, “Well shit,” he says, at loss.

“It’s not permanent, but we don’t ?now how long it’s going to take, might be a few weeks,” Steve explains gently.

The gentle voice means there is more to it, and Bucky assumes he’s being put on medical leave or something, but when he looks at Steve, and he _really_ looks, he thinks it’s much, much worse than that.

Steve looks _old_.

Not old as in an old man with wrinkles and greying hair, but there’s a tension in his jaw, and frown lines on his face that Bucky knows weren’t there the last he remembers.

That, coupled with the pain in his shoulder he remembers finding out means he has apparently lost his arm and gained a robot one, tells Bucky he’s not just missing the memory of the last mission.

“What’s the date, Steve?” he asks, voice wavering.

Steve’s face does a dance of emotion, and he settles on looking vaguely guilty and a little queasy.

“Remember how you wanted to go to the future?” he tries, voice high with nerves.

“Steve,” Bucky gives him a flat look.

“2017,” he says.

Bucky gives him another flat look, “Buddy, I appreciate the humour, I do, but my arm is missing and I am in no mood for it,” he says, because come on Steve, he’s been through something here, okay?

Steve’s expression turns sad and pleading, “I wish I was joking,” he says, and he pulls out _something_ that lights up and suddenly there’s a newspaper headline _floating in the air_.

“ _What the hell_?!”

***

It’s a long night. Bucky slaps Steve twice.

***

There is a lot that Steve is not telling Bucky, and he knows that. Knows that Steve knows that too.

He’s of the mind that he likely doesn’t want to know, if Steve’s pulling blows for him like this.

It leaves an air of mystery to the whole future thing though.

Bucky thinks he’d really like the future too, but he’s in so much pain it’s blinding sometimes and that really puts a damper on the whole experience.

When he tells Steve there’s something wrong with his metal arm, the guy looks heart broken.

“It… It wasn’t damaged in the fight,” he says softly.

Bucky’s pretty sure that future him is more of an idiot than Steve is.

Especially when he looks at himself in the mirror.

“What the fuck!?” he screeches, then, “Excuse my language,” he mumbles, “But what is this?” he demands of Steve, like he’ll know why future Bucky hasn’t shaved in what could be _months_.

And what was with his hair?

And his clothes? He ends up borrowing some from Steve because he’s not in _mourning_ , for Pete’s sake. He’s not wearing all black! He ends up with blue jeans that are strangely tight, but stretchy, and a white collared shirt. There’s nothing but what must pass as his uniform in his own closet. Black, heavy, and leather.

From what Bucky can tell, they’re living in the lap of luxury when they’re not out fighting extraordinary and strange new threats, so the explanation for why Bucky looks like a caveman is _required_.

He doesn’t care about his future self’s reasoning. He shaves. He doesn’t even have a razor and soap in his room, he has to borrow that from Steve too. He leaves his hair, because after he’s taken a bath (which took entirely too long to figure out—the future is complicated) he actually sort of likes it.

He assumes that long hair is normal, or at least acceptable for fella’s now, since Steve didn’t mention it.

It’s soft and kind of… pretty, when it’s clean. He keeps running his normal hand through it. He has no idea how ladies go through life not constantly touching their hair.

He mentions this to the pretty redheaded women named Natasha and she laughs at him.

Re-meeting the team is another example of Bucky’s future self being an enigma. They all seem thrown by Bucky, both looking less like a bear and being polite.

There’s a nice looking guy named Sam who just gapes at him for a while and says, “That’s not Barnes. Barnes doesn’t have a jaw line. Steve, you brought home the wrong guy”.

“This is Sam,” Steve says with an eyeroll.

“Well, Sam,” Bucky says, “I’m hoping you’re not the guy I lost a bet to, because I’m not growing that shit back out for anyone,” he says.

“Man, I wish it was only a bet,” he says, “Those cheeks haven’t seen sunlight since I met you,” he says.

He meets Natasha and she seems to be waiting for something, maybe for him to flirt with her or something, and he will, eventually, but he doesn’t think it’s necessary at the moment. She makes a joke about him being old-fashion, and from the way she’s dressed, Bucky assumes she thinks he’s meant to offend her. She looks like she could kick his ass though.

He meets a man named Vision and buts his foot in his own mouth, “Vision? So is that your superpower?” he asks when the blond, brit introduces himself his a firm handshake that Bucky returns enthusiastically.

“The origin of my name is more complicated than that, I am afraid,” he says smoothly.

“Right, pardon,” Bucky says with a wince, “That was outta line, sorry,” he smiles.

“That is quite alright, Sargent Barnes,” he says.

“I’m guessing we’re not very close, if you’re calling me by my rank,” he says lightly.

“Again, I believe it is more complicated than that,” Vision smiles warmly.

He’s a really nice guy.

His lady is nice too, she beams a smile at him, genuinely happy, but there’s a wetness in her eyes. Unshed tears, he thinks.

He really doesn’t know what is wrong with his future self.

He tries to socialize, because everyone seems interested in getting to know him, but the metal arm is killing him.

“Steve, there’s really something wrong with this arm,” he says on a wince. He can barely move it without feeling like his whole left side is on fire.

“I will see if Mr. Stark is available,” Vision says, and _sinks into the floor_.

“What the hell?” he exclaims for what must be the hundredth time today.

No one has an answer to that not-question.

“Mr. Stark has a moment of time for you now, Sargent Barnes,” Vision says, appearing back out of the honest-to-goodness floor.

It obviously takes a few moments for him to recognize the name.

“Stark? Like Howard?” he asks.

Steve smile is tight, and jeez, he’s getting tired of that. He’s waiting for Steve to stop beating around the bush and drop the other shoe here soon, but it’s taking longer than expected.

“His son,” Steve says, “Tony,” he adds. He sounds stilted, and it doesn’t take a genius to know there’s tension between Steve and this guy. “He funds the Avengers, he’s Iron Man,” Steve says.

“And he hates your guts,” Bucky says, filling in.

Steve opens his mouth before snapping it closed, shoulders hunching. He gives a rueful smile, “And he hates my guts,” he says, “Let’s go fix your arm,” he grins and stand.

“Oh, jeez,” Bucky mumbles, “Alright, lead the way,” he says.

“Thanks,” he says to Vision on the way by.

“You are most welcome, and, I must say—hate is strong word, sergeant Barnes,” his smile does seem fake this time.

Hate _is_ a strong word. And Tony Stark hates Steve and Bucky, _both_.

He can tell because there are two over-protective robots armed with fire-extinguishers pointed at them when they enter the workspace after meeting him.

The first man Bucky see’s is a very short, curly haired man with glasses in his late forties. He assumes this is Mr. Stark in a plaid button up and a white lab coat.

“You must be Mr. Stark,” he tries pleasantly.

The man blinks and then laughs at him, “That,” he giggles, “That’s flattering,” he says.

“This is Bruce Banner,” Steve introduces, “He’s who we go to if your memory gets any worse,” he explains.

“And I’m who you come to with anything more interesting than that,” says another voice from deeper within the room.

The man speaking is… Well, there’s a lot Steve didn’t warn him about. Tony Stark being the most attractive man Bucky has ever seen in his life is just one on that list.

A very important one, he might add, as he gapes like an idiot at the miles of exposed, glistening, tan skin and muscular arms, broad, strong shoulders, and an angular face with dark, shadowy features that Bucky’s getting lost in.

He doesn’t look much like Howard, less the dark hair and eyes, and so his mother must have given him the sharpness and the definition.

He’s in nothing but an undershirt and tight pants exposing thick biceps and defined forearms, and Bucky really wished that Steve had warned him.

There’s a trail of sweat on his brow, he’s clearly been doing some manual labour, and wow, that’s Bucky’s type. There’s a smudge of grease or coal on his throat, just over his pulse point.

“Tony Stark,” he introduces himself, coming closer and sticking out his hand to shake.

Dumbly, Bucky sticks up his own, still staring stupidly at the other man. He forgets to speak. Tony Starks hands are warm, a little sweaty, and strong.

His passive features turn sharper with a humourless smile, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Barnes,” he says.

Bucky doesn’t really know what that’s supposed to mean.

“Uh, no. S-sorry you just uh,” he stumbles, “You have some uh, grease just there,” he motions to the side of the mans throat vaguely, scared he might reach out and touch the smudge of black with his finger, or worse, his tongue. Which is just unsanitary and a great way to get himself killed.

“Right,” Stark says, unimpressed. He makes a broad, dramatic sweeping motion, “Well, welcome to the future and all that,” he says.

And it is. He’s really in the future.

Everything is that bright, white light in here, but with a bunch of other lights too. Floating with no obvious origin. Bright, sky blues that look alive.

Everything is alive. The lights, the equipment. The air cackles with it like before lightening strikes but so much more.

It makes Howards Expo look like child’s play. While he had great and advanced inventions, they were machines. This… none of this looks like machinery. It looks like a new lifeform. Dancing lights, moving parts. It’s like standing inside a moving engine.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky breathes, before catching himself, “Sorry,” he says to Steve.

He didn’t even flinch, so Bucky supposes he can’t have the worst language on the team.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Steve says, but he’s not looking around, and he’s hovering like he isn’t sure he’s welcome in the room.

“Puts the expo to shame,” Bucky says, then looks back to their host, who seems even more stand offish than before.

“Sorry to bother you with this, Mr. Stark,” Bucky tries with a smile.

“It’s what I’m here for,” the man shrugs, “Sit,” he kicks a chair on wheels over towards him and Bucky frowns, following the direction nonetheless.

When he does, and with Steve hovering over his shoulder now, is when the two living robots make their way out of hiding.

“DUM-E, no,” Stark sighs, “Leave him alone—DUM-E, no, no U do not douse Rogers! Do it and I swear you’re both going straight to the dump, you nightmare,” he yells at the machines.

The machines respond like trained dogs.

“Are they alive?” Bucky asks, barely concealing excitement.

Stark looks at him quizzically for a moment before going back to directing the robots.

“They are computers with a self-learning artificial intelligence,” he says. “Rudimentary, riddled with coding errors and out of date scrap heaps,” he says, but his words are belied by the affectionate hand he runs over one of their claws.

“So… yes?” Bucky asks.

“Well, they’re not as advanced as Vision or Friday, no,” he says, and the robots have relaxed a little, no longer looking ready to shoot Steve and Bucky with extinguisher foam.

“Vision?” he asks, “Wait… You built a person?!” he can’t help but exclaim, his voice cracking with excitement.

Stark’s frown only deepens, and he glances at Steve who looks away like he can’t handle that brief glance.

“I build a lot of things,” Stark says simply.

Bucky wishes he would have taken the hint, but he doesn’t, “Did you make my arm?”.

The tension just grows.

“No, the princess of Wakanda did,” he says even as he expertly begins opening the metal plating.

“I can’t tell if that’s a joke,” he says, looking between Stark and Steve.

Steve smiles, “No, she really did,” he says, “It’s made out of the same metal as my shield,” he adds.

Bucky can feel his eyes widen, “Vibranium? Really?” he asks.

Steve nods with a smile that at least looks real this time.

“The future is really somethin’” he says smiling back at Steve.

His face scrunches up a second later though when he gets a tingly pins and needles feeling in the arm.

“I had to disconnect it for a few minutes,” Stark says without looking at him, somehow still knowing his face is doing something weird.

“You could warn him,” Steve snaps with a clenched jaw. Steve’s always been a snappish guy, but he doesn’t snap like that with the Howlies, that’s for sure.

“I could,” Stark says noncommittedly, again without looking at either of them, but he’s strung tight enough to break too.

Bucky is aware of the tension, it’s impossible not to be, but he is also very distracted. He can see _inside_ his arm.

It’s more complicated than any engine he’s every seen. More wires than a broken radio. Tiny pieces smaller than even those of a pistol.

He’s too busy watching Stark’s deft hands and small tools wiggling around in what looks like an endless _maze_ of wiring and electricity to pay attention to what’s going on between the two men. Stark is incredibly talented. He says he didn’t build the arm, yet he doesn’t have so much as a schematic to look at as he works. He must have had to fix this it before.

“You’re really good at this,” he says, not realising how close they are, both bowed over the arm. His breath rustles Starks hair. They both jerk back a little, Stark much more steady and with the forethought to hold the arm in place.

 _He’s really pretty_ , Bucky thinks, stupidly.

His lashes are impossibly dark, like he’s wearing make-up or something. His eyes are dark too, and so, so big and round, sharp and intelligent with lines at the corner from smiling. His skin is sun tanned and warm looking. His goatee looks scratchy and for some reason Bucky’s brain thinks that’s great. Well, it’s not his brain that likes that so much as it is other parts of his body. He still can’t help wondering what it would feel like against delicate and sensitive skin.

He really shouldn’t be thinking like that though, and he backs up further. As far away as he can be without dragging the arm with him.

“Genius,” Stark mumbles, and continues working like nothing happened.

Because nothing did happen.

Bucky chances a look at Steve, and his face belies nothing, so clearly Bucky wasn’t being that obvious.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky tries.

Stark just hums.

He doesn’t seem interested in talking to Bucky.

Which is fine. That’s probably for the best, lest his attraction to this man show.

Still, Bucky can’t help but clock the smile lines of his face and wonder what it takes to make him smile for real. Wonders what that might look like.

Bucky turns his focus on Steve, asks him to tell him more about the future.

Steve spends a good chunk of time talking about food, and then drops, “Same-sex marriage is legal in most states. Decriminalized in all of them,” with a tiny uptick of a smile.

Bucky jerks his head up, causing Stark to drop something, but Bucky isn’t really paying attention to that at all.

“ _What?!_ ” he yelps.

Steve, the bastard, just gives him a smug smile.

“And you _waited_ to tell me that?!” he demands, “Rogers, you asshole!”.

Steve opening laughs at him then.

Bucky can’t help but grin back stupidly, because wow.

“No kidding?” he checks, and for some reason glances at Stark who is actually watching the exchange.

“No kidding,” Steve assures.

Bucky can feel his stupid grin, “Way to go future,” he says.

He also apologizes to Stark and settles back into the chair like he’s supposed to be so he can keep working.

“So, is it like… normal?” he asks Steve.

“About ten to fifteen percent of the population are open about it,” Stark answers, prompting both Steve and Bucky to look at him.

“What? Rogers doesn’t have that statistic rattling around in there,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

Which is true. Steve is tragically attracted to women.

Steve sputters a little, “Well, no, but, you—and Pepper,” he says nonsensically.

“I’m opportunistic,” Stark says, easily.

Oh, Bucky is so fucked.

“Neat,” he hears himself say, high with anxiety.

The guy obviously hates him, and he just so happens to be the most attractive fella that Bucky’s ever seen, who he’s been ogling since they got here, and is _opportunistic_.

He mulls that over for a while, and he’s glad that his brain is working so slowly, because it means that he doesn’t blurt out any terrible theories during the rest of the time it takes Stark to finish fixing his arm.

His arm feels way better, almost real, actually. The pain is gone, and it looks pretty neat, Bucky thinks.

He thanks Stark he’s not sure how many times, and gets waved off every time. Even Steve says that it’s Stark’s job, which earns him a glare, because Bucky is trying to be _nice_.

But yes, sudden realization of a brand new theory on his future self.

“Were Stark and I… you know, _Stark and I_?” he blurts as they step out of the elevator. Stark stayed in the workshop in a completely different building, glaring daggers at their backs as they left.

Though everyone else is around to hear him say it. He wishes he could take the words back at the reaction that gets.

“ _Absolutely not_ ,” Steve stresses.

“What gave you that impression?” Natasha asks, failing to hide an amused smile.

Bucky shrugs, cheeks pink, “He hates me an awful lot, and he’s… _opportunistic_ ,” he parrots the word.

She raised a brow at that, “And are you opportunistic?” she asked.

Bucky shrugged and looked to Steve. He wasn’t sure what the word for it was now, or what he should answer with.

“Bucky is gay,” Steve said.

“Gay,” Bucky repeated, “Like happy?” he asks.

Steve smiles, “Means you like men,” he corrects.

“Huh,” Bucky says, nodding, “Neat,” and honestly, he kind of loves this twenty-first century thing.

But it is very strange to be in a room full of people who know that about him. It was only ever Steve, and whoever Bucky was stealing a few furtive moments with in dark corners of darker places.

No one really reacted, besides the obvious shut down on Bucky’s theory about Stark. They all just continued as they were.

It took a little while for him to relax again, but when no one spared him a second glance, he did. He spared Vision a few glances now, since he knew that the man was actually artificial. At least, sort of.

He wished he could get the full story, but Bucky was starting to think he wouldn’t get the full version of anything that’s gone on with this team.

It was no Howling Commandoes, that’s for sure.

He thought about the smile that Stark must have, the one he hasn’t seen, while the man was fixing his arm, so it was an interesting coincidence that he see’s it soon after.

Not in person though.

He see’s it on film.

A television, Steve says. It’s where films play, and where the news gets reported, with pictures.

It feels very strange, how real it looks. Like it’s really just a pane of glass and Stark is going to turn and catch Bucky’s eye through the screen, even though Bucky knows the man is downstairs covered in sweat and oil and not dressed…. Like that.

He looks rich as a gangster. Richer, even. He’s dressed even better than one. His suit is tight like all clothes in this age are, and in all the best places. The suit is a bright, flashy purple, he’s wearing purple tinted spectacles too, and he is smiling.

It’s a blinding thing. Big, bright, flashy like his outfit. Every part of him matches.

Bucky is pretty obviously staring.

“No,” Steve says.

“I didn’t say anything,” Bucky defends.

“You didn’t have to,” Steve rolls his eyes.

Bucky agrees to let it drop, even if, still aware of Starks harsh feeling towards him, he makes it his personal mission to see that smile in person.

He has time.

He doesn’t waste it though. The next day Steve takes him out so he can go to the store, since he can’t very well say thank you with ingredients that Stark has paid for. The day after that, because it ended up being an all day event with a trip to Brooklyn and seeing his own grave was a very jarring experience, see’s him in the very confusing kitchen trying to _do his best_.

“I’m guessing people don’t really say thanks with pie these days,” Bucky says to Wanda when she asks what he’s doing, “But it’s all I can really do, seeing as I know nothing about the guy,” he grins.

Other than he’s insanely attractive, rich as all get out, funds their team, makes their gear, houses, feeds them, and does it all with a very angry expression on his face.

Bucky’s no stranger to a cranky CO, and sometimes it just takes a show of appreciation.

He’s being optimistic, he knows. The tension between Stark and Steve is no secret. He’s been warned a few times that they shouldn’t be in the same room together without a world ending event to distract them both.

Apparently Bucky has not been in Starks lab _ever_.

Which should put him off the guy, he knows, but it just makes him think Stark is that much more intelligent.

“You’re baking… for Stark?” she asks, skeptic.

Bucky nods, “’Course,” he says, “He fixed me right up,” he smiles. He hopes he’s not being transparent, but it’s hard to tell with these people.

“That’s… nice of you,” she smiles, “I hope he appreciates it, Bucky,” she says.

He looks at her, see’s the fakeness of her smile.

“So, what’s up with Stark and everyone, anyway?” he’s pretty sure he won’t be getting a clear answer from her either, but he supposes it’s worth a shot.

She sighs, “There was a fight,” she explains to his surprise, “A year ago, between Steve and Stark,” she tells him, “Sides were taken, and… and things got very messy on the team. People got hurt,” she says slowly, considering, “but things are getting better,” she tells him with a faraway look.

It’s more than Steve was willing to say on the matter. It explains a lot too. Why Stark stays in his workshop so much.

“And whose side were you on?” he tries.

“Steve’s,” she says with a tight smile, “Stark and I have history,” she adds.

It’s a running theme.

Everyone has history with the guy.

Brining pie to the embodiment of the twenty-first century as a thank you for fixing Bucky’s mechanical arm is not something he ever though he would be doing. Alas, here he is.

Stark seems very confused. Which Bucky was expecting. It’s not really standard social etiquette he doesn’t think. Problem is that he doesn’t know what it.

“It’s blueberry,” he says. He was told by the ceiling voice it was his favourite.

Honestly, Bucky’s just rolling with the punches now. He tried not to jump _every_ time she speaks.

Stark looks uncomfortable, and like he would love to send Bucky away, but, “I can’t say no to food,” he sighs, “God knows it’s been… a minute,” he grumbles, mostly to himself.

Bucky can hear him though, and he thinks that maybe his hearing wasn’t this good before. He’s a sniper, he’s practically deafened himself in one ear. He tries not to think about it though.

He leaves Stark to his pie with a smile that is not returned, but it’s still progress in Bucky’s opinion.

The a few days later, Bucky meets another of Steve’s team, but he’s the first that Bucky is sure must have been on Stark’s side during their fight. Vision was a maybe. He at least voluntarily spoke with the guy.

Mostly because he walks in, spares no one a glance and tells the computer to “Tell Tony to get his ass out here for dinner before I drag him by his ear, Friday,” in a pleasant tone.

“Boss is on the way, Colonel Rhodes,” the computer responded, prompted Bucky to jump yet again.

When Steve explains to the Colonel, who is barely interested in the conversation, that Bucky has lost his memory, he scoffs, “What else is new,” and turns away.

Bucky has so many questions.

“This has happened before?” he demands of Steve.

The blond winces, “No, not like this,” he says.

“Well like what then, Steve?”.

Surprisingly, it’s Rhodes that saves Steve from answering, “You don’t want to know,” he says, and he keeps hearing that, but when it’s the guy who likely also hates your guts, it feels a little bit more like the warning it’s meant to be.

“Rhodey-bear!” Starks voice is nothing like he’s heard it before. It’s bright and cheerful, and holy shit, that’s the smile.

It’s so much better in person.

Bucky thinks the television smile might have been fake, actually. It’s got nothing on the way Stark looks at Rhodes.

Bucky wonders if maybe Stark and Rhodes are together for a moment, but remembers that Steve hadn’t known about Starks affinity for those outside of the female verity.

The two share an embrace, ignoring everyone else as Stark starts asking rapid fire questions about Rhodes’s leg braces, which Bucky hadn’t even noticed.

He barely notices them now, they are so subtle and sleek, besides he’s busy listening to Stark speak because it’s more than Bucky’s heard from the man since he woke up with a lifetime of missing memories.

When they leave, Steve gives him another look, “Bucky, no,” he says sternly.

“But he might forgive me one day,” Bucky tries.

Steve just cringes, “Doubtful,” he says and slaps Bucky on the shoulder on his way by.

That doesn’t mean he can’t still try.

Because that’s the nice thing to do. That has nothing to do with how pretty he finds the other man. Nothing at all.

So, the next day, Bruce cooks for them all, and Stark doesn’t show, and when Bruce stands to bring the man a plate, Bucky offers to do it. It’s only polite. Bruce did all the cooking, after all. Bucky can make the trip to bring Stark dinner.

“I’m starting to get suspicious,” Stark says.

Bucky blushes, “Uh, s-sorry,” he says, “It’s just uh—Bruce cooked, and it didn’t seem right to make him do all the work,” he tries.

“You just like the robots,” Stark says, but he accepts the food more easily this time.

Thankful for the out, Bucky takes it swiftly, “Yeah,” he agrees, “They are really neat—I, uh, I like the robots, and the,” he motions to the room as a whole.

“Technology?” Stark offers.

“Yes,” he says, “very much,” he adds.

Stark nods, “That’s fair, it’s the most technologically advanced place in this hemisphere,” he boasts.

“It looks like it,” Bucky says, looking around, “It feels like I’m in a dream in here,” he babbles, “Your brain must be incredible,” he mutters, not really thinking.

Stark blinks, “You like tech?” he asks, almost disbelieving. Strange they must know so little about each other.

“I like science fiction, and this feels a hell of a lot like that,” he grins.

Stark tilts his head to the side, quietly assessing, before turning away when Friday tells him her analysis is finished.

Then, Stark just sort of forgets that Bucky is there.

And Bucky forgets to leave.

He wonders around in this strange future dream scape for what could be hours, touching things, looking, wondering quietly to himself.

He finds the Iron Man armour looking deadly and regal all at once, traces the lines of the suit with his eyes and then again with gentle fingers.

There’s something familiar about it, and Bucky thinks maybe that’s his memory coming back, but he doesn’t spare it much thought, not when the robot with DUM-E printed on the hydraulics of the arm rolls up to him with a quizzical chirp and a cup of coffee in it’s claw.

“For… me?” he asks, not expecting a response.

The robot raises and lowers it’s arm in mimicry of a nod, and Bucky grins, “Oh! Thank you so much!” he says and accepts the offering.

The robot chirps happily and then goes about it’s business, preparing another cup for Stark who pats the bot absentmindedly in thanks, manipulating the light displays in the air with his hands.

Bucky wonders about, finding a large collection of automobiles. One that Bucky is at least a little familiar with. He tells himself the ever-present god-like AI in the ceiling would tell him to back off if he was crossing a line, and it’s been modified without a hood, so it’s not like Bucky’s popping her open to take a peak, just leaning in and it’s all right there.

It’s in impeccable shape.

He spends a while re-familiarizing himself with the mechanics before Stark finds him.

“You don’t have unrestricted access to the lab,” he says while Bucky’s bent over the car, scaring the hell out of him.

“Shit,” he curses, nearly falling forward into the engine by overbalancing as he retracts himself. He turns, and Starks eyes dart up to meet his, because it’s pretty clear that he was focused looking somewhere a lot lower.

“Sorry,” Bucky says anyway, because that might just be hopeful thinking, “You uh, never said to leave—and I got distracted, and uh—your, um, the robot—DUM-E, it uh, gave me coffee so I assumed you knew I was here,” he babbles.

Stark isn’t in next to nothing this time, though it’s almost worse. He’s wearing slacks, like he did on the television. Tight in all the right places, and a button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His tie discarded, a few buttons at his throat released.

He looks like something obscene. Something like a queer pinup drawing that needs to be guarded with your life.

But he’s real and standing there looking expectant and so, unbelievable sexy.

And off limits.

“Fine,” he says, then nods at the car, “You seen one before?”.

Bucky nods, “A few, yeah,” he says, and then explains even though Stark likely doesn’t care, “I worked at a garage for a while before the war, right out of school,” he says.

Stark seems to bite his tongue on a retort, just walks around to the other side of the engine and looks the whole thing over.

“Never seen one in such good shape though,” Bucky continues, filling the silence because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Wiring was always a mess, spent more time figuring that out than anything else,” he says.

“It’s always electrical with these,” Stark agrees, and to Bucky’s surprise, he actually starts talking, explaining how he’s modified the wiring to keep it tidy for easy fixes.

“Why not just… build a better one?” Bucky asks, honestly.

“Something about the classics,” Stark says, and he smiles at Bucky for the briefest of seconds. Small, simple, barely there. Beautiful.

“Guess it might appeal, but I’m more interested in the future,” he smiles back.

Stark doesn’t share his grin, but he offers to show some of his newer cars, and Bucky nods eagerly, following after the man.

“I’m only doing this because the pie was good,” he says to Bucky.

Bucky laughs, “That’s fair, I’ll make another one tomorrow,” he says.

Stark seems surprised at that, “God no,” he says, “I’m not enhanced, I can’t eat that much sugar and still fit in the suit,” he says.

“Which one?” Bucky says easily, a little too flirtatious.

Stark cuts him a look, “We are not friends,” he reminds.

 _We are not flirting_ , is what he really says.

Bucky ducks his head, “Right, I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it.

He’s not just trying to get lucky with Stark. He really does just want to make up for whatever his future self did that’s made him so guarded around Bucky.

Because he’s seen him around Rhodes, around Vision now too—and he’s a different man. He talks, and he’s bright and animated and he puts his body behind his words and it’s hypnotising. Stark seems like a really good man too. At least, on the surface. And Vision is probably the nicest person/android that Bucky’s ever met, and not only are they close, but Tony is his creator.

The thing Bucky really doesn’t get is how the others talk about Friday like she’s part of the team, a good friend, and yet ignore her boss, her maker, her father, and all the credit he deserves for creating her.

Bucky doesn’t know a lot about what’s going on, but he does know he kind of likes Stark.

Especially an hour later, after he’s shown Bucky how car radios work, and starts on something called air conditioning before they’re interrupted.

Friday tells them Steve is looking for Bucky. Which is probably a good thing. Bucky shouldn’t spend too much time with Stark…

“Thank you,” he says as he’s leaving, “For letting me stay, and for showing me all this,” he smiles.

Stark just waves him off. He does that a lot, it seems.

Bucky hopes that when his memory is restored, he doesn’t forget everything Stark just taught him. He wouldn’t want to waste Starks time. He’s a pretty busy man.

Steve and Bucky go for a late night run around the compound like they’re in basic. Steve says it’s important, and Bucky can’t argue too much. He’s done nothing since he woke up without his memories.

The talk about a lot of things, but they don’t discuss the monster of a man Bucky has apparently become.

It’s not just that his future self has somehow hurt Stark. It’s the way the rest of the team looks at him with sad little smiles, how Steve touches him pretty much constantly. Hugs, casual shoulder grabs, just brushing against him. It’s the way his closet is filled with nothing but combat gear, how he never shaved, how his room is devoid of all personal effects, not even a doodle from Steve or an old pair of shoes.

It’s the constant “You don’t want to know”.

And Bucky would fight that if it was anyone other than Steve who said it.

He’d push, he’d pry.

But when the most stubborn and bullheaded man that was always too stupid to run from a fight tells him that he should avoid, ignore, should turn a blind eye on something, it strikes deep.

He doesn’t like the way people look at him, and he blames the person Bucky is destined to be for that. So whoever Bucky becomes? Fuck that guy. He’s an ass. Bucky really hates that guy.

Bucky’s up early the next morning, the vestiges of a nightmare haunting the peripheral of his thoughts. He doesn’t entertain the idea of more sleep for more than a second.

He get’s pretty bored though, since Friday handles security, there’s not much for him to do.

He blames that on why he thinks he should take apart his arm.

He did watch most of what Stark was doing in there, and he showed him all kinds of electrical stuff yesterday. It seems reasonable that Bucky should be able to poke around in his own god damn limb if he wants to.

He thinks he’s done pretty well, but by the time Steve is up and asking for help with breakfast, Bucky has only three functioning fingers.

It’ll be okay, he tells himself. He can fix it later. He has time to work out the kinks.

That is not true when he’s down to two working fingers by noon and he swears he hasn’t even touched it.

He reluctantly makes his way to Stark.

“In my defense,” he says when he’s permitted inside, “You are a genius and make everything look easy,” he smiles sheepishly.

That startles a laugh out of Tony, and it’s the second time Bucky’s seen him smile, and even though he’s mostly confused this time, it’s still a smile and Bucky pats himself on the back for it.

Then he pulls his metal arm from behind his back and shows Stark his three curled and frozen fingers with a wince.

Stark rolls his eyes. He’s very expressive when he isn’t actively hating Bucky.

“Do you know if I’m going to forget all this when I get my other memories back?” Bucky asks Stark when he’s sitting and Stark is opening everything back up, unsure if he’ll know the answer.

Stark stands and is moving around his space, gathering tools, “It’s not likely, all the data we have on other test subjects all retained their memories. It’s more complicated because you’re enhanced and because of the prior dama—” he cuts himself off and starts over, “Chances are high you’ll remember, yes,” he says.

“I’m enhanced?” Bucky asks, sitting up, confused.

Stark blinks at him, “Rogers didn’t mention that?” he squints.

“Steve hasn’t told me about a lot,” Bucky sighs, “But I guess I should have been able to figure it out,” he says, looking down at himself, “I wasn’t…” he motions to the expanse of his broadened chest.

Stark hums, “True, you were a twink in those old war reels,” he says on his way back over.

“What does that mean?” Bucky asks.

“Skinny, young and pretty. Gay,” he says offhandedly.

“Oh,” Bucky replies simply.

Does that mean he is no longer pretty, he wonders? He supposes he’s no longer young and skinny, as Stark just pointed out.

He definitely wasn’t very pretty with all that facial hair, but he’s taken care of that now. He really doesn’t need to be stressing about his looks right now, though. He hasn’t cared this much about his appearance since he was drafted.

He should be more concerned about the fact he’s apparently enhanced like Steve. It explains his hearing, how much stronger he is. Explains how he kept up with Steve running too. He really hasn’t been thinking as critically as he could be, Bucky thinks. He should have figured this out by now.

“What has St—Rogers told you?” Stark asks, the first time he’s instigated a conversation.

Bucky smiles to himself, “He told me we were both frozen, and that’s how we got here. He didn’t give details on that, but it sounded pretty terrible,” Bucky says, “Told me we worked separately for a while because we didn’t know the other survived, told me about SHIELD and how it was really Hydra again, that’s how we were reconnected. Told me about the Avengers, Thor and Loki,” he says.

Stark shakes his head and laughs humourlessly.

“I’m guessing there’s more to it than that,” Bucky says.

“A little bit,” Stark says with a shake of his head, “Fucking typical Rogers,” he hisses under his breath.

“You gonna fill me in?” he asks.

Stark looks at him then, and Bucky watches those analytical eyes flittering around Bucky’s features, searching, assessing, memorizing.

“I don’t think I hate you enough to do that, Barnes,” he says more softly than he’s ever heard.

“That bad?” Bucky asks, voice wavering.

Stark sighs, “The whole team is a mess,” he says, “We’ve all got our share of problems,” he sighs again, “But you?” He points with a screwdriver, “You most of all,” he says, and then, “God knows I haven’t made it any easier,” he mutters.

“Guess I’ll just make the best of this memory loss thing then,” Bucky tries with a small smile.

Stark shakes his head, blows out a breath and lets his own mouth tick up in a smile, “Yeah, you do that,” he says.

Then he spends the time to actually explain Bucky’s arm to him.

“There’s a mini computer in there,” he says, “It’s acts as the arms own artificial intelligence, interpreting your thoughts into electrical pulses, and vice versa, sending back signals to you from the pressure sensors,” he says, “So when you mess with a wire, it’s like messing with a vein, cutting off circulation. Eventually it’s not just the one line effected, the damage grows,” he explains, “And because this is intrusively connected to your brain, which already has been put through the wringer, anyone with less than genius level intellect, should not be playing around in here,” he adds, raising an eyebrow that’s almost teasing.

“Sorry,” Bucky blushes, ashamed, “It just… It’s attached to me, I want to know how it works,” he smiles, “It’s a little more complex than a Ford, though,” he jokes.

Stark smiles back, easy as anything for a moment, “I get it,” he says, “That’s why I’m showing you how it works,” he tells Bucky.

“I really appreciate it,” Bucky says earnestly, “You’re a really good man, Stark,” he says, because it’s true. Stark doesn’t like Bucky, and yet here he is—taking time out of his insanely busy life to teach Bucky about his arm, even with the small possibility that Bucky won’t remember any of it.

Starks smile drops, his shoulders tense, “Funny,” he says, and goes back to his explanation, periodically looking up to ensure Bucky is following, pausing when Bucky looks confused so he can ask a question.

They must spend hours bent over Bucky’s arm, talking, Stark makes jokes, some self-deprecating, some over-confident and egotistical, some flirty, some goofy. Bucky laughs at them all, less the self-deprecating ones. He gives as good as he gets too, and it’s amazing, watching Stark’s face light up like this. He’s really in his element here.

He says so, and Stark laughs, “I made one of those,” he smirks.

Bucky believes him, too, “God, you are incredible, Stark,” he breathes, a little star struck.

Stark beams at him for a moment, proud, but with a slight flush in his cheeks. The moment doesn’t last though, like every other time he’s laughed, the expression falls a moment later, and he can’t seem to lose the tension he carries until he looks away from Bucky’s face.

“I wish I knew what I did that makes you look at me like that,” Bucky says quietly as he watches that grin turn tight and sad, and then settle back on a blank mask.

Stark clicks his tongue and goes back to opening the next panel of Bucky’s arm, “No you don’t,” he says.

Yeah, he knows. Except that he really doesn’t know. He just knows that people who care and who care very little both tell him the same damn thing: You don’t want to know.

Not for the first time, Bucky wonders about the man he’s apparently become.

“It’s just that… sometimes you look at me like I killed your best friend,” Bucky sighs.

The screwdriver in Stark’s hand clatters to the ground as the man jerks involuntarily.

Horror fills Bucky. Did he actually—

“I—I’m sorry, did I… Wha—I,” he stutters out in a rush.

“No,” Stark croaks on a rough voice, “No, you didn’t kill my—you didn’t kill anybody,” he says and Bucky _isn’t an idiot_. It doesn’t matter how much conviction Stark tries to shove into that sentence.

Stark is _lying_ to him.

Bucky killed someone important to Stark.

How bad was this fight?

 _People got hurt_.

Colonel Rhodes’s leg braces, the ones that Tony made—they’re _new_. They’re assisting in a recent injury.

Did Bucky paralyze Rhodes?

Or worse?

Sides were taken, but aside from Rhodes and Vision, everyone else was very clearly on Steve’s side. He knows Bruce didn’t end up partaking, and he was the only other Avenger Bucky’s met that’s on okay terms with Stark.

Did Bucky take the life of someone on Stark’s side? Is Bucky capable of that? Even in the future… he struggles to imagine anything worth killing a fellow teammate.

Stark doesn’t offer any more insight on the matter.

Bucky tries to let it go, focusing on what Stark is telling him, but there’s a nagging in the back of his head all the while.

He does eventually have to leave, it’s dinner and he hasn’t seen Steve since noon. It’s odd he hasn’t come to find him yet, but he doesn’t dwell on it.

Stark refuses the invitation to tag along. Bucky isn’t surprised, but he is a little disappointed.

He meets another Avenger at dinner, Clint Barton, close friends with Natasha and Wanda, and he’s nice. Funny, in a way that’s always lightheartedly at someone else’s expense.

Until it’s not lighthearted.

“Got your hand all fixed up?” Steve asks over dinner, “Sorry I didn’t check in, was catching up with Clint,” he explains.

Bucky nods, “Yeah, all good now,” he smiles, “Spent the afternoon with Stark,” he says proudly, “He was showing me how it works,” he tells them, “Did you know there’s a computer in there?” he asks, “Another AI like Friday,” he explains.

Clint snorts, “Careful, don’t want Stark bringing that to life and trying to kill us all, too,” he says.

Bucky turns a quizzical expression on him, “Did that… happen? Is that what you fought about?” he asks looking at Steve.

“No, no,” Steve tries with a wince, “No, before Vision, there was… a mistake. Ultron. He uh, tried to take over the world,” he explains tensely, “That’s not what we fought about,” he adds.

“Christ you lot are a mess,” Bucky shakes his head.

“Some more than others,” Clint smirks, “Where is Stark anyway? Squirreling away scared?” he teases. It makes everyone a little uncomfortable.

“Clint,” Steve says in reprimand.

“What?” he doesn’t relent, “I should at least get to see the guy responsible for the divorce,” he says casually, leaning back in his chair.

“Clint,” Natasha says in a similar tone.

“Mr. Stark is in no way responsible for your ex-wife’s decision to leave, agent Barton,” Vision says passively, calm like maybe this isn’t the first time he’s said it.

Clint scoffs, “Like hell,” he says bitterly, “It’s his fucking lawyer she’s got, his fucking money payin’ for it,” he seethes, sitting childishly with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Come on, man,” Sam tries, “Stark’s done a lot of shit, but this isn’t on him”.

“Why the hell not, right?” he laughs humourlessly, “He’s to blame for everything else!” he shouts suddenly.

“Clint,” Wanda tries.

“They had you in a fuckin’ straight jacket, Wanda!” he growls, “A shock collar! And all is just… forgiven?” he laughs bitter and sour again, “Throws money at it and it’s all okay again, right?”.

“Buddy, you need to get some air,” Bucky says, intervening, shocked that Steve hasn’t already.

“Man, you are the last person who should be defending him,” Clint turns his aggression to Bucky. Almost fairly so, since he was the one who started the conversation.

And he has a point, Bucky knows.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky says passively, “and she’s the last person you should be hollering at, so take a walk,” Bucky says.

Surprisingly, Clint does when Natasha gets up and drags him gently away.

Wanda smiles gratefully, if a little teary at him, “Thank you,” she says.

“No, that’s on me. I didn’t know Stark was such a sore spot,” Bucky says.

She winces, “Clint’s not been taking the divorce well,” she says, unnecessarily.

“Can’t imagine,” Bucky nods.

It’s a little awkward after that. The night wraps up pretty quickly, Clint doesn’t come back inside.

That night, Bucky has nightmares. He thinks he might be recalling memories or something. His first thought is to go talk to Bruce about it, but he was looking a little green around the gills after the confrontation at dinner and he doesn’t think he should wake the guy up.

But his heart is pounding, and there’s this strange sense of fear clinging to him, and the images in his mind are blurry and sick, and he—he doesn’t feel very well.

His insides feel wrong. Cold and hot all at once. He feels sticky with sweat but it feels worse than that. He feels dirty. Like he’s caked in blood and horror.

He can’t hear much over the pounding of his heart, his own ragged breathing. He wonders if this is shell shock.

Is that what’s wrong with Bucky in the future?

He vomits for a while, and finally he hears Friday’s voice asking if he’s alright.

He shakes his head no.

He’s not. His head is hurting, he can hear screaming in the back of his brain, can’t tell if it’s his own or some other unlucky bastard.

Whatever his brain is trying to remember, it’s not pleasant.

Though he can’t say with the way everyone’s been looking at him that he expected it to be.

She asks if she should wake Steve, and he says no again, so he’s surprised when somebodies shadow falls over him.

It’s not Steve, though. It’s Stark.

“Hey, your memory back?” he asks right away.

Bucky shakes his head no, then pulls himself up off the bathroom floor, “I don’t—just nightmares. I guess—maybe?” he tries, the words croaky and rough.

“Nightmares weren’t yours?” he clarifies, hands hovering like he wants to help Bucky but he stops, steps back and clasps them behind his back instead.

Bucky just nods, leans down and sticks his face under the tap to rinse his mouth and splash some water on his face.

God, he feels terrible.

“Sorry Friday woke y—” he’s about to say, but he see’s Stark’s wearing another suit, loose tie and missing the coat, but still fully dressed.

“I just got in,” he says with a quick smile, “Sorry for barging in,” he says, “Friday thought maybe it had to do with the memory thing,” he says, still hovering in the doorway.

Bucky is barely holding himself up, hands gripping the counter, but he feels shaky and weak.

“It’s not, not a memory thing,” he tries, but Stark already knows that.

He closes his eyes, sees darkness and dread, and red, red, red fill his vision and he hears the horrible sound he makes, feels himself tremble harder, trying to keep himself from crying.

Men don’t cry. Soldiers don’t cry.

“Hey, just breathe, Barnes,” he hears Stark say, but if he does that he’s going to start sobbing so he just bites down hard on his lip to keep the sound in.

“No, none of that macho bullshit, alright?” he’s saying, “Look, I’ll leave, and you can just—” he motions to Bucky, “let it out, alright?” he says.

But Bucky really doesn’t want to be alone, and that might show on his face, but he thinks the horrible whimper he makes is what get’s Starks attention.

He feels bad about it, because Stark obviously is uncomfortable, but he still stays.

Still tries to offer comfort.

He lays a gentle hand on Bucky’s metal arm, squeezing softly, and Bucky distracts himself with the strange sensation. He let’s Stark coax him out of his room because he says it’s easier to forget the nightmares when you’re not in in the room they’re still haunting, and his clothes still cling to him with sweat that feels like blood, but when he’s in Tony’s workshop, with a blanket around his shoulders, he barely notices it any more.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, listening to Stark talk about engines before he’s stopped shaking.

“Guess everyone had a point,” Bucky says eventually.

Stark doesn’t require an explanation.

“We’re not as stupid as you might think,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.

“I’d say I never want my memories back, but I’d really like to make it up to you for whatever I did,” Bucky says softly, “I don’t think I can do that without knowing,” he says and he means it.

It’s not about attraction anymore. He just genuinely likes Stark. He thinks he’s a good man, and Bucky hurt him, Steve hurt him, and there has to be a reason for that. There has to be one.

Why else would anyone hurt Stark like this?

Somehow his words seem to hurt Stark all the same. He looks at Bucky with a heartbroken expression.

A long time passes, Bucky looking back into big, glassy brown eyes.

“You have nothing to make up for, Barnes,” he says like the words are pulled from somewhere deep and painful inside of him, “It wasn’t your fault,” he rasps, and then he looks away, busies his hands with some trinket and says, “So when you get your memories back, and you go back to stalking around all silent and broody, you remember that,” he says with an almost aggressive conviction. “It wasn’t your fucking fault,” he adds on a whisper.

 _What wasn’t his fault?_ Bucky wants to beg.

He doesn’t.

He falls asleep in Stark’s lab though, curled up in a chair with a blanket around his shoulders.

He wakes up hearing something tapping on glass.

Looks up and sees Tony asleep face down on the benchtop and Steve’s confused expression on the other side of the door.

He stands, stretches, and gently places the blanket around Tony’s shoulders before slipping out into the hallway.

“Bucky no,” Steve says immediately.

“It’s not like that,” he says, “I swear,” he adds, hand to chest when Steve gives him a look.

The nightmare was a catalysts though.

His memories do come back.

He and Steve are doing their morning run when it hits Bucky like a physical blow. He stops dead. Dread, panic, fear, confusion, it all slams into him and it’s crippling. He ends up falling to his knees in the mud, he’s vomiting up nothing but stomach acid, rancid and burning his throat.

He starts fucking laughing after he gets enough breath back.

_Sometimes you look at me like I killed your best friend._

No, Bucky thinks. Just his parents. Just his mom. Only _paralysed_ his best friend.

He kept facial hair to hide the vulnerability he knows is all over his face right now because Steve takes one look at him and knows.

He avoided Stark because he was terrified of facing the man after everything he did.

He avoided the team because he knew he would never function as well as they do.

But they don’t function much better, do they? He knows that now.

And Stark isn’t so scary. Not at all.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, concerned.

Bucky… Doesn’t have an answer to that, so instead he pulls Steve into a hug, because he never did before. Never instigated them because he thought Steve couldn’t bare to touch the monster he had become. He knows now Steve was just trying to give him space.

“I don’t know,” Bucky says. He repeats it until he’s just sobbing, because he is sobbing. He doesn’t know when it started, he just knows there’s no end in sight.

Steve hugs him back so tight, the sobs just become muffled and less body-wracking.

Eventually Bucky pulls himself together though.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, like maybe he didn’t mean for Bucky to hear it. He barely does, over how hard his heart is beating and they way crying has made his head fill with cotton.

“Shut up, Steve,” he still says, gathering the strength to roll his eyes.

At least this isn’t the first time Bucky has felt the weight of the past seventy years slamming into him.

This time he has Steve, and that at the very least, is grounding.

If only because Bucky can continue to tell him to shut up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wear a mask, wear a mask, wear a mask.  
> Wear a mother fucking mask

The worst part of this whole thing, and by that he means both having lost his memory and having gained it back, is that he can’t seem to _unsee_ Stark. Of course, that is impossible, they work together, but the _way_ he looks at Stark has changed and is unerasable.

Before the memory loss, Bucky hadn’t ever thought much about Stark’s looks. All he saw when he looked at Stark was a kid he orphaned and an angry man.

Now? Now he is keenly aware of Stark’s looks.

“Goddamn it,” he whispers to himself. He doesn’t need to fall asleep with the image of Stark’s arms in his head again. He knows where that will lead.

Bucky hasn’t seen the man since he regained his memories. He doesn’t know if that’s because Stark is avoiding him, or if it’s just that Bucky isn’t actively seeking him out like he was when he didn’t know any better.

Still.

_So when you get your memories back, and you go back to stalking around all silent and broody, you remember that. It wasn’t your fucking fault._

Losing the guilt and gaining it back doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. Doesn’t help him sleep.

Bucky stops trying after a while. He’ll start sleeping again when the exhaustion reaches that point where he doesn’t dream at all.

He blames that on why he forgets he doesn’t usually hang around Steve’s team, joining them for dinner again.

That, and his arm.

Without the pain he finds it too easy to forget himself. What he is, what he’s made for. The limb feels real, too human like. It no longer feels like the weapon it marks Bucky as.

 _He_ starts feeling real. Too human like.

“You hit your head again?” Sam teases.

“If I’d had known what Bruce’s cooking was like, I would have joined you dumbasses earlier,” he grumbles, hiding his embarrassment.

Steve beams at him.

He supposes he does feel a little different lately too.

Spending a week with nothing but the “good” memories has somehow brightened them in his mind. They combat the bad ones now instead of getting swallowed and distorted by pain.

It’s a little easier to make Steve smile. A little easier to tease back. A little easier to get out of bed.

“I appreciate the flattery,” Bruce says with a small smile and he stands to make a plate for Stark.

Impulsively, Bucky stands, “I got it,” he mumbles, “you cooked,” he gives the same justification he gave when he didn’t know what a terrible idea this was.

He feels eyes on his back as he makes his way out of the kitchen.

 _See’s_ eyes on him when he is allowed into Tony’s workshop.

Two sets.

There’s a pretty woman there too. She’s tall, a redhead, wearing clothes far too clean for the likes of the lab, but somehow she looks like she belongs.

Belongs in Tony Stark’s arms.

It’s a very awkward exchange. The women looks back and forth between Bucky and Stark looking for answers, but Stark looks just as confused as she clearly is, and Bucky feels his shoulders come up around his ears trying to shrink away.

He leaves the plate with a stuttered “Bruce cooked so…” and then he makes a hasty retreat.

He doesn’t know why he’s so uncomfortable. He didn’t go there looking for comfort. He knew the exchange would be tense, awkward. Maybe a bit emotional.

He wasn’t expecting his amnesiac self’s schoolboy crush to rear it’s ugly head.

“Bucky no,” he groans to himself.

He was _not_ jealous.

He was just… lonely. That’s all.

It’s been a decades since he last held someone in his arms, since he last kissed someone.

That’s why his amnesiac self was so enamoured by Stark. Smart, possibly gay, attractive, and near by.

That was all.

He still looks up Pepper Potts and finds article after article about her and Tony’s relationship scandal.

She is the women who was in the lab alright.

Bucky doesn’t know why he hates it so much, really.

It’s not like Stark ever did or said anything to indicate Bucky’s feelings—no, not feelings… thoughts. That Bucky’s thoughts were mutual.

Stark made it very clear he wasn’t interested in forgiving Bucky at all.

What kind of asshole gets upset by the guy whose life he ruined moving on and building himself a family?

Bucky’s amnesiac self was right.

Bucky is an asshole.

Stark feeds, clothes, houses them all, and Bucky –his parents murderer—has the audacity to be jealous like Stark was somehow obligated to… to… ugh, he doesn’t even know.

Bucky decides to take a walk.

He even leaves the Compound grounds and just _goes_.

He doesn’t need to be surrounded by reminders of Stark while he sorts through this mess.

He feels like two people. Unfortunate that this too is familiar.

He feels both lighter and further from his grief, and heavier, weighed down and guilty.

How awful it must have been for Stark to deal with Bucky’s persistence when he knew the truth about who Bucky was.

How easy it was to exist when Bucky didn’t know.

It’s still easier, he thinks. With everybody except for Stark.

That should be enough.

Why isn’t it?

Maybe it’s that Stark is the one Bucky’s hurt the most? He supposes it will always just sit closer to the surface with him.

That thought makes Bucky sad.

He… misses the easy banter. The futuresque dreamscape of Tony’s workshop. Misses learning about new things. Hearing excitement in the voice of a man who should only show resentment.

He knows the resentment is back though.

Bucky doesn’t think there’s enough pies to be made in the world to make that go away.

Stark can say it’s not his fault. That doesn’t mean…

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt them both.

Bucky sighs. He has no idea where he is.

Thankfully he has his phone and therefor he has Friday.

“Hey Friday,” he says to the device, “Can you get me ho—back?” he asks.

“Of course, Sargent Barnes,” her voice sounds small and silly from his phone, less omnipresent than usual, “I can send a car for you?” she suggests.

“Probably a good idea,” he agrees.

He sits at the side of the road, head in his hands until a car rolls up on the empty street.

It’s not one of those simple black SUV’s that they use to take on missions and publicity events.

It’s the 1932 Ford from Stark’s workshop.

The driver in none other than Tony Stark himself.

“Get in loser,” he says.

Bucky just blinks comically.

“It’s a reference,” he sighs, “You wouldn’t get it, just get in the damn car,” he says.

Awkwardly, Bucky stands and does as he’s told.

The car isn’t exactly made for two grown ass men who do the kind of laborious jobs that they do, which makes it difficult to avoid brushing against the other man.

Stark doesn’t make to turn back towards the compound though.

“You wanted to talk earlier, so talk,” he says.

Bucky blinks owlishly again, “You want to talk while we’re trapped in a moving vehicle going…” he checks the speedometer, “eighty-six miles an hour with no seatbelts?” Bucky clarifies.

“You’re going to be hard pressed to find me in a better position,” he says offhandedly.

The comment makes Bucky blush. There are many positions Bucky would like to find Stark in.

Ugh, that right there is the biggest problem. Amnesiac Bucky’s stupid fucking crush.

“Right,” Bucky coughs out.

Stark hums, and he’s actually a pretty good driver. The car seems to like him.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” he prompts, impatient.

Bucky suddenly doesn’t want to be anywhere near Stark ever again, ever.

“Uh, I don’t remember,” he says.

“You don’t remember,” Stark repeats deadpan.

“I have memory problems,” Bucky says jokingly.

It startles a bark of laughter from Stark, which in turn brings forth a small smile of Bucky’s own. There’s something almost like that banter that Bucky’s been missing, but he thinks it’s likely just in his head.

The moment fades away, blurs by like the trees, and Bucky steadies himself to have this conversation.

“You said, uh, you said that. _.. it_ … wasn’t my fault,” Bucky starts unable to bring forth the words to describe what has transpired, “And uh, well I just—either way I wanted to—” he continues only to be stopped when Stark cuts him off.

“No, there’s nothing to be…” he struggles with his own words, Bucky thinks. Can’t bring himself to acknowledge it’s an apology in the making, “there’s no reason to,” he says instead.

“It still happened, no matter who takes the blame and—” Bucky argues.

“Look,” he cuts off again and for someone who prompted Bucky to speak, he’s not very interested in what he’s trying to say, “I didn’t know you before,” Stark says obviously, “But now I’ve seen… I know how much…” he sighs roughly, frustrated, “Look, it’s pretty obvious you hate yourself enough for both of us, alright? So just—truce,” he says, “It’s done. It’s over. We move on now,” he says with finality.

“I—” Bucky starts, then changes his mind, “It’s okay to hate me,” he says, “I can take it, if that’s what this is about,” he glances at Stark who’s profile belies nothing.

“Resentment is corrosive and I hate it,” he says, “besides, I doubt you could really take it,” he says, this time it’s teasing and shifting the conversation. He glances back at Bucky to presumably wink. It’s hard to tell with the sunglasses.

“You’d be surprised what I can handle,” Bucky teases back instinctively.

Since when did Bucky have instincts that were for more than just killing?

Stark turns serious again though, “You don’t have to,” he says, “Handle it, I mean”.

Bucky nods, “Yeah, with my memory back, there’s not much room for toxic masculinity in there,” he agrees, “I cry… more than anyone else I know,” he laughs at himself, a little self-deprecating.

“Well good,” Stark says with a nod.

“Good?” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “It’s good for you, healthy. There’s been studies,” he says.

“Do you follow your own advice?” Bucky asks.

Stark smirks, “I’m Tony Stark,” he says like that’s an answer.

Bucky supposes it is.

Bucky doesn’t get a chance to comment on it, as Stark launches into discussion about the car and that easily distracts Bucky until they arrive back at the compound.

It feels almost normal, in a strange way. Stark treating him kindly, the same way he had when Bucky had no recollection of the tension between them. Still just a little distant, voice just a little tight. Filling in silences the way Bucky used to now, like their rolls have been reversed.

Unfortunately, when they make it to the garage, Clint is there too.

Bucky feels like the confrontation is his fault again, because Bucky convinced Stark that he should come back to the kitchen with him, which is the only reason they cross paths with the archer.

See, Bucky maybe made another apology pie that he never planned to deliver, but it seems like it could be better suited as a ‘thank you for picking my ass up off the side of the highway in the middle of fuck-all-nowhere upstate New York’ instead.

They run into Clint on the way into the building.

“Finally gracing us with your presence?” Clint sneers.

Quick as lightening Stark snaps back with a grin, “Yeah, your wife was busy tonight,” and Bucky chokes on the air in his lungs trying to stifle the snort of shocked laughter that overtakes him.

Clint storms off ahead of them, and Bucky looks at Stark with an incredulous look.

“Did you—did you just,” and then he starts laughing, because Clint is an asshole and _wow_.

This is that easy banter, isn’t it?

Stark laughs, proud, “You liked that, huh?” he says.

“Wow, Stark,” Bucky chuckles, “What would your girl say?” he teases.

“Girl?” Stark asks, confused, “Oh, you mean Pepper,” he realizes.

“Yeah, sorry. Woman,” he corrects.

“How progressive,” Stark teases, “But I don’t think she cares much about the trouble I get myself into, so long as it’s not effecting the company,” he mentions.

Bucky’s heart does something stupid.

“No?” he prompts.

“We aren’t together,” he says, “If that’s what you’re not asking,” he adds and then glances at Bucky, “You’re not very subtle for a ghost,” he says.

Blushing, Bucky mumbles, “Yeah, that’s why they muzzled me,” he says offhandedly.

Stark stops walking, looks at him, and laughs even harder than Bucky just did.

Bucky loses the battle with his poker face and starts laughing too.

That’s how they walk into the common room kitchen, giggling like children.

Bucky abruptly stops, squaring his jaw, and Stark just smirks and raises an eyebrow at Clint, as if to say, ‘yes, we’re laughing at your misfortune’ even though they’re laughing at Bucky’s.

It’s awkwardly quiet, yet Stark doesn’t seem to care.

The moment he’s gone Steve turns on him.

“Bucky no,” he says with the full force of his puppy-dog eyes.

Bucky refuses to meet his eye, shrugging, “Bucky maybe,” he says with a grumble.

It’s not until hours later when Clint is gone for the night and it’s just Bucky and Sam left that he has the jarring thought that Stark might know about Bucky’s feelings.

Might know and be completely uninterested.

Which is well within his rights, of course.

Who in their right mind would be interested in someone like him?

When he mentions this out loud, Sam just shakes his head, “Stark’s not what I would call in his right mind, either”.

“Asshole,” Bucky mumbles.

Sam smiles brightly in response.

Everyone else knows about Bucky’s not-quite-feelings for Stark, and he’s almost glad that the man refuses to interact with any one of them because it means he won’t accidentally find out or be told by someone who hates Bucky. He’s safe in the regard.

He knows better than to get his hopes up about Stark too.

The best he could possibly hope for is that he and Bucky become friends.

That’s all.

This little crush will fade in time.

It will.

He’s got a head full of death and a body made to execute it. He’s not relationship material. He’s not likable, not lovable. He’s the Winter Soldier. He follows orders and tries to make the world a better place.

He’s nothing to nobody.

Well, except Steve, but that isn’t exactly what he means.

***

His crush gets worse.

***

Where Bucky had thought attraction would fade, it grows. Where Bucky thought the hard lines of friendship had been set, they blur.

Where there was friends, there was flirting.

No one flirts quite like Stark.

Bucky doesn’t even recognize that’s what it is at first.

But Steve points out that people don’t give cars as gifts to their friends in the twenty-first century.

It’s old. Not as old as Bucky, not old like the Ford. This one was built after the war. It’s still old, and it’s broke down.

  1. Another Ford, another V8 engine. Club Coupe it’s called. First car that the company put out after the war, Bucky later finds out.



“So you can mess around with something that isn’t wired into your brain,” Stark says.

It comes with unrestricted access to his workshop.

It comes with the change from Stark to Tony.

“For me?” Bucky asks, blown away, “You… I’m allowed to…” he can’t quite get the words out, “Stark, I—I don’t know what to say,” he sounds a little faint even to his own ears.

The man just scoffs, “Please,” he waves away Bucky’s gratitude, “It saves me from fixing your arm every time you want to get creative,” he says, “And call me Tony if you’re going to be down here,” he mentions and walks away.

Bucky bakes another stupid pie, because he doesn’t know what else to do in the face of all that makes up Tony Stark.

And it is so much more than just left over attraction from his little crush.

Because of course Tony is an amazing man, a kind man, a good man. Bucky feels like an idiot for every having thought otherwise.

And Bucky knows so very little about him.

Bucky doesn’t realize what the true gift is that Tony has given him at first. It’s a car for Bucky to tinker with, it’s a budding friendship.

It’s unrestricted access to Tony’s _space_.

To Tony himself in a way.

Bucky never noticed how much time Tony spends in the lab, and he thinks he probably wasn’t supposed to either.

It’s just that after a few weeks of only visiting the lab during a respectful 9-5 schedule, Bucky eventually gives in and after a particularly terrible nightmare, he asks Friday if he could go tinker with his car for a bit until he settles enough to try sleep again.

Tony’s there, as lively and erratic in his designing as he is during any of Bucky’s other visits.

It’s three in the morning.

DUM-E wheels over with some coffee, refills Tony’s mug too.

“Rough night?” Tony asks, then looks at his watch, “It’s nighttime, yes?”.

“Uh,” Bucky can’t help but shake his head at the genius, “Yeah, it’s nighttime,” he agrees, “Sorry, you must be busy if you’re still working,” he tries to say.

Stark waves him off, always, always waving people off, “Creativity waits for no man,” he says, “Or sun,” he shrugs, and motions for Bucky to continue towards the car.

Bucky doesn’t think too much about it at the time.

He’s too busy thinking about how Tony refers to Bucky’s tinkering as ‘creativity’. It’s the second time, and for some reason Bucky hadn’t considered that.

He’s building something. Fixing something. Creating instead of destroying.

The thought makes him tear up a little because he’s already a bit of a mess from waking up with the image of blood in his hands seared into his brain.

Tony is so damn _thoughtful_.

All Bucky knows about the guy is that he’s smart and he’s funny, and he likes _blueberries_.

But slowly Bucky learns more.

He talks a lot, to himself, to his AI’s. The bots love him.

Bucky has stopped thinking that strange. That Tony could create life with machinery. It just seems normal, real, believable when Tony is around.

Tony’s brain is incredible.

He tells him this often. Tony never takes the compliment.

Bucky thinks about ways he can make him take it.

Tony doesn’t sleep. That’s another thing he learns.

No, really.

Never.

Not once has Bucky went down to the lab after a nightmare and not found the other man there too.

The only times he’s not in the lab are when he’s on mission or doing something for his company.

He still lets Bucky in during those times, though the Iron Man suits are always locked away. Probably for the best. Temptation and all that. Bucky likes to think he wouldn’t dare, but… (so shiny).

Tony never looks at Bucky strange on those nights when it’s too late or too early for anyone to be up besides them.

Sometimes, if Bucky hesitates, even a little, Tony will ask if he wants to talk. Bucky always shakes his head ‘no’ even though he’s entertained the idea a few times.

Tonight is one of those.

“Talk about what?” Bucky retorts, and it sounds a little harsher than he means to sound, but he’s just so tired. He wishes he could sleep the way he did when he didn’t have all these memories.

He doesn’t regret having them though. They make him who he is. Someone has to have them, right?

“Anything you want,” Tony says easily, barely glancing Bucky’s way at the aggressive tone.

Tony is so easy, Bucky thinks. He makes things so easy.

He doesn’t understand why everyone else seems to think he’s difficult. He doesn’t understand why Tony can just forgive him either.

Pressing his luck out of some strange form of self punishment, Bucky asks, “Tell me about your parents,” and waits.

Tony whirls around, his expression sharp even as he raises a quizzical eyebrow, “No,” he says simply, calmly. “I’m not going to be the fun new way you torture yourself,” he says and turns back to whatever he was doing.

A hot mess. A disaster. Emotionally stunted. Egomaniac. Hazard to himself. That’s what everyone’s told him about Tony.

But he’s also a genius.

Compassionate.

Considerate.

Pays attention to detail. Details about the people in his life.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says.

When Tony waves him off yet again, Bucky doesn’t let him. He moves closer to Tony’s space than he’s been since the car ride several weeks ago.

“Tony,” he says, urgently almost.

“You alright?” Tony turns back.

Bucky makes sure he catches Tony’s eye this time, places a hand on his shoulder (not his wrist, this is friendly).

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says and tries to convey more into those two words than either of them could bare to hear. He knows Tony wasn’t ready to hear them before, but Bucky thinks if he can guise them with a double meaning, he might just listen, “And,” while he has Tony’s attention, “Thank you,” he says.

He walks away this time, giving Tony his back.

There’s a long moment where Bucky thinks Tony’s went back to work before he calls across the room, “Yeah whatever,” in a huff.

“You’re supposed to say: You’re welcome, Bucky,” he shouts back.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the other man grumbles.

Bucky laughs softly, starts back on the car.

They are friends, and Tony’s trust doesn’t feel quite so misplaced anymore.

It is because of this that Bucky is allowed in the lab when Tony is not there, and that he is around when Tony returns from a mission one night.

He’s not in the suit, which Bucky was expecting, because the suit has already made its way from the landing pad, via robots, because of course.

Tony doesn’t seem to notice Bucky’s there, and maybe Friday didn’t warn him or something, because he doesn’t so much as glance Bucky’s way.

“Wake up, daddy’s home,” he says, and the lights come on. Bucky only kept his corner lit, something in him wanting to conserve power.

It illuminates the other man, who looks like _shit_. Bucky freezes at the sight.

There’s blood running down the side of his head, hair matted to his scalp. He’s limping, and his grey t-shirt is torn and bloody too.

He hisses as he strips the garment over his head, “Fri, scan for internal bleeding,” he grinds out from clenched teeth and it spurs Bucky into action.

Tony is hurt. _Badly_.

“Tony?” He says, rising and making too quick strides across the room.

The other man jumps from where he’s leaning on his desk, twisting to get a look at the jagged looking cut along his ribs. His side is already turning colour with bruising.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, not meant for Bucky, “Hi,” he says, louder.

“Hi?” Bucky parrots, voice filled with his own disbelief at the casualness he makes of the situation.

He’s shirtless, bleeding, bruised, and kicking off his shoes like it’s a regular day in the office. Tony’s expression is one of pain, lip caught so tightly in his teeth the colour has been washed out, though. It ruins the lie he’s trying to sell completely, that and all the blood.

“No signs of internal bleeding, Boss,” Friday interrupts, “Though I am detecting multiple fractures to your seventh and eighth rib, severe bruising, as well as—”

“Yeah, got it Friday,” Tony cuts off.

Bucky doesn’t really know what to do or say. He has no idea what happened on the mission, he wasn’t called out.

But Tony is _hurt_.

“Don’t you fund an entire medical wing?” Bucky blurts when Stark produces a first aid kit from his desk.

“This was closer,” he says shortly.

There’s a little mirror in the kit and Tony sets in on the desk, and it occurs to Bucky that this might be a regular occurrence. Tony patching himself up.

He’s not thinking when he reaches out and stills Tony’s hands.

“Let me,” he hears himself say, and his voice gives too much away. Sounds too sad, too broken, too choked up even to his own ears.

He just can’t help imagining all the times Tony’s been here alone, hurting and too tired to deal with sitting next to someone like Clint or Natasha in medical waiting to get fixed up alongside a team of people he can’t let his guard down around.

It’s probably difficult to be a sarcastic asshole when your ribs are turning black and blue.

He says the words, but he isn’t surprised when Tony shakes his head, “It’s fine,” he insists.

Bucky doesn’t know if he should press, he knows he’s hovering, standing too close, hands not let releasing Tony’s, and wow, he didn’t realise that part.

“Tony,” he says again, just as he lets his hands slip away.

He watches Tony scanning his features, watches his throat bob, watches him bite his lip again with something not quite like pain.

“Yeah, yeah alright,” he says on a shaky sigh.

“What happened?” Bucky asks when Tony is situated on the desk, having used Bucky’s arm to steady himself. Bucky pulls up a chair of his own, his legs feel unsteady.

He doesn’t know if it’s a shirtless Tony Stark, or a bloody Tony Stark that has him feeling so shaken.

“Building collapsed,” he says through his teeth as Bucky dabs an alcohol soaked cotton ball against the jagged line.

“What happened to the suit?” Bucky asks.

“Weak point in the armour,” he says taking a breath, staring up at the ceiling, “I’ll fix it tomorrow,” he mutters.

Bucky’s hands are steady despite how shaken he feels. He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like the scent of Tony’s blood in his nose, the feel of it sticky under his hands. He pushes it aside though. He’s helping, not hurting.

“You need stitches,” Bucky murmurs, because for some reason talking at a normal level seems obtrusive and wrong.

Tony doesn’t answer but to hand him a package of adhesive steri-strips and a suture kit, “Pick your poison,” he says, “It’s not like I’m worried about scaring,” he winks down at Bucky.

Which strikes Bucky odd, considering how much effort Tony puts into his appearance when it comes to publicity.

He makes the mistake of looking back up at Tony though, and that’s when he notices for the first time the extant of the scarring already littering his body.

Bucky would be lying if he said he’s never imagined Tony shirtless or even more (or less) than that, if he’s being honest. So, Bucky’s put thought into it, alright? Tony works with his hands a lot, and they’re pretty rough for a someone as pretty as Tony, and of course in their line of work, Tony is bound to get banged up.

And the arc reactor.

So, Bucky was expecting scars.

Not as many as he see’s though.

There is a perfect circle that doesn’t look quite like a scar, and nothing like a skin graft, which he knows is synthetic. It’s real looking but for the paleness. The rest of Tony’s skin is just a bit darker, warmer. Surrounding it and smattered all over Tony’s chest in raised white scars from collar to collar and down nearly to his stomach is shrapnel damage. Shards of jagged metal pulled painstakingly from his body in some other time long past.

There’s another scar on his other side in almost the exact same place as the wound Bucky is tending now.

More marks, burns both from heat and friction if Bucky were to guess, litter Tony’s body, his arms, his shoulders.

Bucky takes the kit. He’ll do his best to limit the damage. The adhesives will leave more of a mark.

Tony doesn’t make a sound, but Bucky feels his eyes on him. He’s thankful for the metal arm, how it doesn’t shake as he works.

“You’re good at that,” Tony says softly.

Bucky smiles just as gentle, “I’ve had practise,” he says.

“Glad you’ve had time to work out the kinks,” Tony teases, but his voice doesn’t sound teasing, it sounds hushed and a little distant.

Bucky glances up, and Tony’s staring down at him, something quietly assessing in his gaze. Bucky struggles to keep it.

He’s never felt there was a place for intimacy where there was blood. Or Blood where there was intimacy, and yet still, in this moment, Bucky’s hands stitching broken flesh back together with gentle tugs of a nylon thread, the air feels charged with it.

All the ways Tony has shown trust in Bucky, but this feels like more than that.

This isn’t a statement the way access to the workshop is, or permission to use first names.

There’s something mutual about this, where before it was only ever Tony.

Offering this to Tony makes Bucky feel less passive, he supposes.

Bucky breaks eye contact, finishes the job and covers the stitched flesh in a bandage, mindful of the pressure on his ribs.

He stands, but he doesn’t go anywhere, and neither does the silent and strange intimacy that he knows frightens them both.

Bucky reaches up, touches Tony’s face and wonders about kissing him.

He sets to cleaning the cut on his temple instead.

Tony’s eyes flutter closed on a silent wince, and he wonders about that too. About Tony’s eyes, bright with life, fluttering shut as Bucky leans in to kiss him.

He doesn’t.

But Tony does.

As Bucky’s hands drop away, Tony’s rise. Gentle, soft despite the years of abuse they’ve suffered, and they turn Bucky’s face to his own.

Bucky watches, lips parted on a silent gasp, as Tony’s eyes do exactly as Bucky had just imagined, fluttering shut, dark lashes against his cheeks and slots their mouths together perfectly.

Bucky’s hands flex uselessly for a moment before he finds them sliding up Tony’s thighs to rest gently at his hips.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, and every time one tries to pull away, the other chases the contact and they start all over again.

The gentle slide of lips, heated breath against the others mouth, the warmth of a curious tongue.

Tony kisses Bucky. Bucky kisses Tony.

Neither of them stop, and Bucky feels he hasn’t breathed anything that wasn’t Tony’s kisses all night. They have replaced the gross stench of blood entirely. He doesn’t want to breathe anything else ever again.

He thinks the sun is probably up by the time Tony finally pulls away, rests his forehead to Bucky’s and sighs, “That’s better than morphine, but I think I might need some sleep,” with a hesitant little smile.

Bucky swallows thickly, “Y-yeah, you should get some rest,” he says.

Tony kisses him again.

Bucky chuckles softly, pulling away himself, “Rest,” he says again.

“Still playing nurse?” Tony raises an eyebrow, “Maybe I didn’t kiss you well enough,” he teases.

“Kiss me again when you wake up,” Bucky says, and it’s not quite teasing, and he thinks it maybe boarders on begging. A desperate request.

Tony’s nodding against him, capturing his lips yet again, “I’ll do that,” he promises.

The sun isn’t actually up by the time Tony’s made his way to his rooms, but it’s a near thing. Bucky doesn’t bother trying to get any sleep.

Doesn’t think he could if he wanted to.

Instead he sits in front of the car and relives the feeling of Tony’s mouth on his own. Thinking about nothing but the other man.

So, they _were_ flirting.

That’s good to know.

If it was anyone else that Tony was kissing, Bucky might say it was just a spur of the moment thing. As self-centered as the thought is, Bucky does think who he is to Tony plays a part in why he doesn’t think for a second that this was some fleeting feeling for either of them.

You don’t call for a truce with the man who killed your parents unless you mean it.

You don’t kiss the man who killed your parents unless you mean it, either.

Tony is far too cautious, far too guarded, to not have meant it.

That’s what Bucky tells himself when he starts to panic. Worthlessness seeping into his thoughts every now and again.

Bucky tries not to let his happiness show when he leaves the lab though, but he doesn’t think he manages enough to hide the glow from a super-spy and his best friend of a hundred years.

“You’re seeing someone,” Natasha says _immediately_.

Bucky is skilled enough that he doesn’t let anything show on his face, just the quizzical eyebrow he raises.

“You weren’t here last night,” she points out.

He doesn’t bother to wonder how she knows that, so long as she doesn’t know where he actually was.

He shrugs, “Maybe,” and goes about his morning, feeling Steve’s eyes on him.

“It’s not Tony,” she says a few minutes later. There is something in her voice that she tries to hide, but he can’t distinguish what it is.

He freezes at that.

Was his crush that obvious? Yes. Yes, it was.

“He was hurt during the mission yesterday, he went to lick his wounds as soon as we got back,” she says and her voice this time is different, almost kind. Like she’s doing him a favour.

Bucky doesn’t know what Tony wants anyone to know.

Bucky doesn’t know what to tell anyone if they asked.

He knows Tony is too closed off around Natasha still, and Steve more than anyone. He can guess how this might play out.

Bucky plays his part well, easily fooling her and Steve with the sudden tension in his body, “Is he okay?” he asks, not turning to look.

“Couple of bruised ribs,” she says simply.

Bucky knows it was more than that.

Is that what Tony told them all? When he had to have Friday scan for internal bleeding? When his ribs were fractured, his side bleeding, his temple split?

“You’re tense, like you want to ask, but you’re not, which means there’s someone else,” she says.

“Nat,” Steve reprimands, “Don’t,” he says.

Don’t try to psychoanalyse the Winter Soldier. Don’t pry into other people’s relationships. Don’t be a bitch? Bucky doesn’t know what exactly Steve means.

She does stop though, and he’s grateful for that.

He and Steve embark on their usual run. Bucky’s tired, he was up most of the night, not that he’s complaining. It still shows.

“You gonna ask?” he says after the seventh time Steve looks over at him.

“You gonna tell me?” he counters.

“No,” Bucky says, simply.

He expects Steve to laugh and shake his head, but he doesn’t. He frowns softly.

Bucky doesn’t think much on it at first. There are a lot of things Bucky does even now that make Steve frown like that. He’s given up trying to remedy it. Steve will use his words if he needs to. He always does. With Bucky at least.

Bucky is under his car on a wheel board trying not to be too anxious waiting for Tony to wake up when the man comes down to the workshop. Bucky hears his entrance, the customary greetings to the bots, so he doesn’t spook when he’s pulled out from under the car.

He looks up to find Tony smirking down at him, a leg on either side of Bucky’s hips. He can’t help taking a gentle hold of the mans ankles even though he’s dressed for SI and Bucky’s filthy.

Bucky swallows thickly at the sight.

“You know, you picked a bad time to finally make your move,” Tony says conversationally.

Bucky was worried things would be awkward, but Tony just picks up where they left off. The usual banter, the flirtatious smiles, the light teasing.

“Me?” Bucky repeats, “I’m pretty sure you kissed me first,” he says smiling goofily up at the man.

Tony rolls his eyes, “Tomato tah-mat-oh,” he says, “Either way, I can’t come down there and it’s a shame,” he smirks.

It really is.

Bucky’s suddenly got the image of Tony straddling his hips, leaning in and kissing him until—

His hands grip Tony’s ankles a little tighter.

He clears his throat, “Guess I’ll have to come to you then,” he says.

Tony moves away, giving Bucky the space to stand.

Bucky is barely vertical before Tony is pressing him gently against the car, their lips meeting just as soft.

Tony really does pick up where they left off.

“Tony,” Bucky breathes into their shared kisses. It seems like all the engineer wants to do, “what are—” _we doing_ he tries to ask with a smile, because Tony is forever trying to avoid the conversation even as he instigates it.

Tony cuts him off with another kiss.

“I don’t have words for this,” Tony says, “So I’m going to kiss you until you forget to ask,” he murmurs.

“Careful,” Bucky mumbles back, “A guy might make his own conclusions that way,” he teases.

“Mhm,” Tony agrees, “You should do that, then email me,”

“You don’t read your email,” Bucky retorts, but Tony doesn’t respond besides grinning at him.

“Come on, show me what you’ve got going on in here,” Tony says, motioning to the car, “You’ve been back and forth under the hood and with that exhaust pipe for days now,” he mentions offhandedly, “What’s got you stuck?” he asks.

Bucky just stares at him for a moment, lost in everything that is Tony Stark. How, while surrounded by life and creation a million light years ahead of Bucky, Tony had time to notice his struggling is just… beyond him.

“What?” Tony says, when Bucky just stares at him.

“You’re incredible,” he says.

Tony, like always, rolls his eyes and ignores him.

One day, Bucky thinks. One day Tony will take the compliment.

The news travels fast that Bucky is seeing someone. At precisely the same speed as the news that it is not Tony, for some reason.

He isn’t sure why that tidbit is making the rounds. Bucky assumed they were all reasonably sure Tony would never go for him, anyway.

Either way, it’s wrong.

Bucky decides, if Tony isn’t going to put a name to it, and Bucky sure as hell isn’t going to make any brazen assumptions, he’ll let the team figure it out.

What could that hurt, right?

Things don’t magically get better for Bucky, nor do they improve for Tony.

They are both still traumatised super-heroes.

But now, sometimes Tony brings take out to Bucky in the workshop and they eat together, both covered in grease and grime with stupid smiles on their faces.

“Is this a date?” Bucky asks the first time.

“No,” Tony assures, “It’s a—it’s a,” he sighs, “Yeah it’s a date, now shut up and eat your fries,” he grumbles.

Things are good. Between them at least.

As good as secret relationships can be, he supposes.

It’s easy for Tony, because he interacts with no one whose silence cannot be bought with suit upgrades or new shoes, but for Bucky…

He lets them form the conclusions they want.

They ask about the mystery man, and sometimes Bucky can’t help but gush just a little.

He just never thought he’d have anything like this. Never thought he’d be allowed happiness, let alone handed it the way Tony has.

He sees so many more of those smiles too.

The big ones, the excited ones. The ones that don’t just light up a room, but light up Tony’s face.

It’s not perfect.

Sometimes Tony snaps, sometimes Bucky growls. Sometimes they just silently agree they shouldn’t attempt to talk right now and work on opposite ends of the lab space.

But it works out. It always does.

Bucky is happy. So, so happy.

It’s not the carefree sort of joy he had when his memories were gone, or that he might have had even before that. He is still weighted down by who—by what—he is.

He thinks it makes the smiles, the joy he feels, just that much more sweeter.

He thinks Tony is in the same boat.

Bucky is happy, so why the hell Steve won’t stop frowning is beyond him.

“One word, come on,” Bucky is wheedled to share with the team on the subject of his mystery man.

Schooling his features as not to blush under the attention, and at thoughts of Tony, Bucky considers the question. A word to describe Tony?

“Compassionate,” Bucky finally answers. “He’s compassionate,” he admits softly, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Well,” Clint scoffs, “Not Stark then,” he says offhandedly.

Bucky frowns, and so does Steve.

Not at Clint though.

Steve frowns at Bucky, even when he scolds Clint.

“What’s not Stark?” Tony’s voice calls out from the doorway.

“We’re trying to figure out who Bucky’s new boyfriend is,” Natasha fills in easily, she’s not grinning sharp and mean, she actually looks a little tense considering the light tone she uses, “So far he’s smart and compassionate,” she tells Tony, looking up with her head tilted just so.

Judging for a reaction maybe.

Something complicated passes Tony’s face. Even Bucky couldn’t say what it was.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and he doesn’t stay.

When Bucky locates him later, he says, “Kiss me as a reward for not punching Clint,” to which Tony replies:

“When did I sign up to become a morally sound one?”.

“About the same time you became my boyfriend I would guess,” Bucky says easily enough.

And that’s what they are.

It’s nice.

Steve keeps frowning at him.

“Alright, Rogers,” he growls one day. It’s not a good day. It’s not one of those days he feels like teasing, or using nicknames, or even just pretending he’s friendly. “What the hell is your problem?”

Steve looks like he’s about to spew some bullshit or another, but he catches the look in Bucky’s eye and changes his mind.

“It’s stupid,” he says, “Selfish, and it doesn’t matter,” he tries.

Bucky just repeats the question.

“It’s just…” Steve says, anxiously running a hand through his hair. Bucky can’t tell if he’s worried about his wording, or Bucky punching him in the face. “This guy your seeing, is all,” he tries.

“What about him?” Bucky demands.

“I just thought… I thought you and uh… and Tony,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “I thought you and Tony were maybe you know, with the… you were just spending a lot of time together, and uh, Tony seemed a lot happier then—he uh, he wasn’t as closed off around the team on missions—so I thought it was you, you know?” Steve says, bringing Bucky up short.

“You’re upset that… I’m _not_ dating Tony?” he clarifies.

“I told you, it’s stupid,” he says, “Not to mention selfish,” Steve mutters to himself, a reprimand to his own emotions.

Bucky just stares at Steve, completely incredulous, his sour mood forgotten.

“I know, I know,” Steve sighs, “It’s just—I don’t know, it seems… rushed to me? A month ago you were still so hung up on Tony—and now…,” he winces, “This isn’t any of my business, I’m sorry,” he says, “I should be more supportive,” he groans.

“You wanna meet ‘im?” Bucky hears himself ask for no reason whatsoever.

Steve blinks at him, “Uh, yeah, yeah sure, Buck,” he nods, “I’d love to,” he assures.

Talking to Tony about it doesn’t go quite as well though. Which he expected of course. Which is why he spent several hours cursing himself out and wondering what the hell possessed him to say what he did.

It was just… Steve had a point, didn’t he?

Tony was a little less tense, a little more open, around the team lately. Steve, Nat, everyone besides Clint seemed to soak up every second of camaraderie Tony was willing to share with them like flowers to the sun. Bucky knew they were all desperate to get back to some semblance of normalcy, anything resembling the life they all had together before well… Bucky, he supposes. Even Tony was getting tired of the tension.

Bucky hasn’t been an optimist in a very long time.

Still, he’s holding on to some kind of hope here.

“Hey Tony?” Bucky calls into the workshop.

“What’s up?” he hears from somewhere deep within the room.

“Was wondering if I could maybe introduce you to my friends,” he says and hears a loud bang followed by creative swearing.

“ _What_?” Tony asks, coming out from under some kind of contraption Bucky can’t name.

“I wanted to introduce you to my friends,” he repeats.

Tony squints at him, “Is that a joke?”

“Sort of? I mean, I do want to tell the team, and Steve, about us—and uh, maybe I told Steve he could meet you already so…” he trails off.

“You what?” Tony repeats, tone harsh, angry.

He hasn’t heard Tony use that tone with him in a _long_ time. Not since before he lost his memories.

He tries not to flinch, tries not to let his own hackles rise.

But Bucky doesn’t get a chance to retort, to argue back, to say _anything_ to diffuse or escalate the situation.

The call to assemble comes at that very moment.

After that, everything happens so fast.

Everything falls apart.

He doesn’t do anything dramatic like scream Tony’s name.

He doesn’t do anything.

He doesn’t even breathe.

The world stops. Bucky stops.

As Iron Man plummets unresponsive towards the pavement head first.

Bucky can’t get to him. No one can. It’s the Winter Soldier’s voice that reminds him of this. That keeps Bucky rooted in the spot, watching helplessly as Tony falls and falls and falls.

His brain draws forth the memory of his own fall and taunts him with wondering if Tony’s conscious in there.

He won’t survive the fall. Not at the current trajectory. He’s going to land on his head, snap his neck.

If Tony is awake, he knows it too.

The man is always too smart.

Bucky doesn’t even notice his gun slipping out of his hands, hears nothing of the screaming over the comms, sees nothing but the rapid descent of shiny red and gold armour.

Repulsors kick back into action exactly four feet from the ground.

Sounds rushes back into reality.

Tony tumbles, skidding across the pavement on sputtering power and he gets closer and closer.

Bucky realises it’s because he’s running, the frozen feeling that locked his joints into place now flings him forward.

Just as the suits power fully kicks back in and Tony rights himself, Bucky pulls up in front of him.

Tony lands with a dull thud, and immediately the faceplate flips up.

Bucky can’t push sound through, can’t bring air into his lungs.

“Hey, that was close,” Tony smiles, a little weak.

Bucky just stares back at him.

“Buck?” Tony is saying, but Bucky just stands there.

It’s not until Tony releases himself from the suit and takes a step forward that Bucky notices he’s shaking.

The image blurs and but Bucky doesn’t feel the tears in his eyes until Tony’s hands are on his face and he can finally take a deep shuddering breath.

“I’m alright, it’s alright,” Tony says.

He tries to nod, to tell Tony he’s listening, but the words are still trapped in his chest.

Tony kisses him then, and Bucky—something about it makes Bucky respond. It’s one of those instincts again that isn’t about killing.

His body knows how to kiss Tony even if his head hasn’t caught up.

“I’m here,” Tony whispers against Bucky’s lips and finally everything rights itself.

He still wraps his arms around the other man and buries his face against his throat.

“I thought—” Bucky gasps brokenly.

“Yeah, me too,” Tony agrees, holding him tighter.

“Parachute,” Bucky mumbles, “Dumb ass gave one to Rhodes and not—not your own damn—holy fuck,” he rambles.

He feels Tony grip him even tighter even as he laughs, and Bucky can’t help but laugh too, though it’s bordering on hysterical.

It’s not until he hears the shuffle of rubble near by and attempts to shoot with a gun he misplaced that the full reality of the situation catches up though.

“Shit,” he says, seeing a news van skidding to a halt.

“Yeah,” Tony says, because apparently even though he’s the one who almost died three minutes ago, he’s still more aware than the legendary Winter Soldier.

The battle is over, the media encroaching on the scene.

Bucky looks back to Tony quickly, “Tony, I—I didn’t know—” he tires to say.

“Don’t be stupid,” Tony rolls his eyes, “I kissed you,” he smiles.

“Yeah,” Bucky supposed that’s true, “You keep doing that,” he jokes.

Tony grins at him, and they both make the decision to forget about the news van and their fight for the time being.

They get back home in time for the story to break.

“What is your boyfriend going to say?” Natasha says with a small smirk.

“Oh, well he’s used to it,” Bucky rolls his eyes, and Tony shimmies past him to the refrigerator, leaving a kiss to his cheek before setting eyes on the last slice of pie.

“I’d fight ‘im,” Tony mumbles around a mouthful of blueberry filling.

Steve beams a smile at them both.

Bucky and Tony roll their eyes in tandem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, this ending is WEAK but I wanted this to end like, 4k words ago.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!!
> 
> please come bug me on [tumblr](http://notdoingsohot.tumblr.com/) because I'm very lonely. Maybe leave me ideas for a one-shot or something, idk.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, and leave kudos!!! You are what make writing possible for me!!! You're beautiful people!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> I'm looking at another four months of quarantine and online classes, please come yell at me about things on: [tumblr](http://notdoingsohot.tumblr.com/)
> 
> please for the love of god I'm going insane. Please.


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